Dexter and the Dark Angel
by CR0WE
Summary: Dexter had always considered himself a demon, but apparently there was a much more literal meaning of the word. BTVSxDexter
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own **Buffy the Vampire Slayer** or **Dexter**. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jeff Lindsey.

**A/N: **I wrote this after reading both **Darkly Dreaming Dexter **and **Dearly Devoted Dexter **in the same night. Since then, it has been sitting in various stages of being done for about a year and a half. I know, a really long time. The fic is very stylized in the way that the two novels are. If you haven't read them, I hope you enjoy just a little taste of what you're missing. I don't often write in this style so I am interested to know what you think. You know what that means, review please.

**Timeline: **The fic can either take place after **Dearly Devoted Dexter **or sometime early second season of the TV show. It easily fits into both worlds. Anyway, you don't have to be familiar with **Dexter** to understand the crossover. But, I have to warn you that Dexter's world is dark and a disturbing.

**Dexter and the Dark Angel**

It was a rare moon that hung over the Miami sky. Large and orange, it loomed low in the late night. So close that one could almost reach out and touch it, caress its crater carved surface with callused hands. It rode with us in the darkness, held our hand as we tarried through the night. Its silver-tongued voice called to the Dark Passenger. They exchanged promises and propositions of what the late hour would bring. And oh, how we were thrilled with all of the possibilities. The Dark Passenger eagerly whispered into my ear. Conspiring with the moon had stimulated his dark desires. His cravings drove me into the night. And so, here I was listening fervently to his murmurs, enthused as much as he was for the near future.

We had stalked and waited. Researched and planned. The Need was great and all was just right. It was time for my careful preparations to be put into action. All had been precisely plotted and packaged tightly with a pretty bow and we had found just the perfect one to take. His name was Harold Nutford and he had a naughty habit of mutilating teenage girls. Nine had been linked by me to him so far.

They were the type of girls whose deaths got the public riled up - pretty and perfect with bright futures. The public saw their daughters, sisters, and girlfriends in the headlines. They wanted blood and demanded a witch hunt. Complete with all of the pomp and circumstance and a burning at the stake finale.

However, the Miami police department had not been able to appease the masses. They had no leads, no clues. All and all, they were thoroughly fucked over. The police had no chance of finding this guy, but I did. Now, I am not a saint. In fact, I am a very bad man and my reasons for wanting to catch the killer were not justice or even glory driven. No, I wanted him because rarely do I find someone with such impeccable taste and design in this line of work. And what I had witnessed at that first crime scene had intrigued me.

That morning had been like every other as I walked into work. It had been my turn to bring donuts and as I sat the box sagging with weight on my desk, the phone rang. I'd been needed at a crime scene right away, and had only enough time to grab a single sugary delight on my way back out.

The drive was short and I enjoyed the blood thirsty morning traffic I traveled. Cars honked, people hollered, a heavenly symphony my ears soaked up. It seemed like everyone turned into psychopaths when they got behind the wheel of a car.

Twenty-five blissful minutes later I walked through the door of a nondescript warehouse and into the crime scene. My eyes were accosted by an orgasm of epic proportions. The back wall had been covered in intricate designs. They weaved in and out of each other, speaking softly in some language only known to them. From far away it looked like it could have been paint, but I knew better. The way it slightly split and cracked where it dried. The Dark Passenger stirred and I felt him watch intently from my eyes, entranced by the flowing grace of what only could be blood that decorated the back wall.

That first glimpse of the scene was not something that I would easily forget.

I'm not exactly sure how long I studied the alien writing. Studied the sensual strokes complementing the hard lines and was awed at the perfect form of the circular objects. It was all beautiful. B – fucking – eautiful.

I turned my gaze away from the calligraphic masterpiece to the rest of the scene and saw artistic expression at its best. Preciously put on the floor was a precisely placed piece of red fabric with intricate trim. Three heads had been positioned in the center of the silk. Two blonds on each side and a brunette in the middle. Their entrails danced along the silk mirroring the designs on the wall. They sang to each other in a foreign dialogue. A sensual melody that one would serenade a lover with filled the air.

"Dexter," coming out of my silent reverie, I swiveled to see my boss Matthew approaching. He was wearing the usual, a nicely pressed Armani suit with a gray tie - looking like the perfect poster boy for well dressed detectives. "Have you ever seen something like this before?"

"No," I replied. It was the truth; I hadn't seen anything similar before. But I knew that this would not be the last time. The killer was leaving a message, and whatever it was, it was falling flat on our ears.

I hadn't been surprised when a second crime scene showed up two months later. Now, my memory wasn't photographic but it was pretty damn good. And while the designs and images on the walls were similar, I knew instantly that they were not the same. The killer was leaving a new message and I wanted to be the one to decipher it. I needed to be the one. The longer I had stared the scene the greater I wished that I could have heard the song coming out of the beautiful girls' mouths. I had wanted to join in their angelic singing. Even now I could almost hear the haunting melody.

With the police still falling flat on their faces, I had known that I had the chance to make my dream a reality. You see, I have this knack for getting into a killer's mind. Since we tend to share the same hobbies, I have an edge that the police simply do not possess. But very few people know that. My step-father Harry knew though.

He raised me, taught me that there were rules that I needed to live by. These were lessons that I took to code, even after he died. The Harry Code. When faced with a decision some people might ask 'What Would Jesus Do,' but I do not. I highly doubt that Jesus would let me embrace my dark desires. I don't know if there is a heaven, but I do know that I would not be welcome there. Undoubtedly, they'd shut the gates and post a guard to make sure I didn't sneak by or pick the locks. So, instead of calling on some supposed higher power that would condemn me, my dilemma was solved with, 'What Would Harry Do?"

I began my search by looking for connections between the girls. What might possibly link these seemingly different ladies together? I spent a long time searching for the connection. But the length of time I search for information never discouraged me, and instead I felt the sweet ache of anticipation build within me. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks before I found a link. Sara Portaige and Crystal Zostuka were best friends. They had been abducted one night after a softball game. They had played in a league team called _The Dragon Snaps_. A cute name I supposed, although what the hell Dragon Snaps were I had no idea. Some sort of vegetable?

The third girl was the one that had given me trouble. I couldn't find any connection between the first two girls and her. Her name was Michelle Watabe and she had disappeared a week later after volunteering at a local soup kitchen. A regular Mother Theresa. It wasn't until the next three girls disappeared that I had found a connection. I could link a Mr. Harold Nutford to the first five of the six girls. He coached a competing softball team called the _Pumas,_ which had played Portaige's and Zostuka's team on a regular basis. He also went to the same church as Watabe. The fourth girl that went missing was his neighbor and the fifth girl worked at a coffee shop that he frequented.

Once I started to unravel his life, all the girls had fit like little neat pieces on a puzzle.

Tugging on my black gloves, I silently came back to the present and stalked stealthily across the lawn. I had done my homework and knew that the man lived alone. No wife, no kids, not even a dog. Which was a blessing because animals hate me. Although, I can't really blame them. If I were a dog, I'd probably hate me too. Most humans find me charming, and to my chagrin, attractive. Why? I have no idea, but it is a feature that I use to the fullest. You see, I am very good at acting. If I was in the professional business I probably would have won an academy award or two by now.

The Dark Passenger purred as we came closer. Mr. Nutford got home Monday thru Friday at 1:30am from his job as a nursing assistant. Between that job and coaching the _Pumas_, he was a busy man. I'd watched him for two and a half weeks and memorized his routine. He lived on a set schedule, and I was thankful that he didn't have a more active social life.

It was no fun to be stood up. Tonight, I'd be there to welcome him.

Out of my back pocket I pulled the velvet like wallet that held my lock picking gear and noted that the house was dark. Even though I had done all of the research, it comforted me greatly to see the lights off. I hated being wrong, especially after all of my careful planning. I made short work of the lock and let myself in. Glancing around, the slippery silence of the house swept over me in soft waves. I could feel the emptiness in the air. Quietly, I locked the door behind me. There was no need to announce my presence quite yet.

Last week was the first, and only time that I had been in the house. I'd found the bit of evidence that I had needed in his living room. He had a scrap book of all of the articles following the case on the coffee table. I don't understand how someone who created such intricate and tantalizing designs could be stupid enough to make a scrap book. God, it had looked like a coffee table book that a person left out for guests to look through. And, to top it all off, there were even hand drawn sketches of the designs found at the crime scenes in the back of the book. The three sketches were carefully drawn out and taped onto pages that folded out. The third drawing was a new one I hadn't seen before, and I knew that it would be coming soon enough. This knowledge didn't help, and the anticipation was still killing me.

Ha, killing me.

I almost wanted to wait until the third one was finished before making my move. If the first two were Picassos, the last one was Leonardo Da Vinci. Fucking mind blowing. But I knew that the Dark Passenger wouldn't be able to wait for that long, and the Harry Code wouldn't allow it either. One called for satisfaction and the other justice, and I couldn't risk the chance that Nutford would get away.

After finding that Nutford-interpreting-Martha-Stewart evidence, I took some time to glance around the rest of the house. I had been going through the kitchen when I heard the front door unlocking. Realizing that it was a quarter to two, I had quickly let myself out using the kitchen door. I'd watched Nutford for awhile, but he hadn't noticed that anything was note worthy. And after that short field trip, I felt that I had enough inside information to move forward. It would have been nice to look around the entire house, but I hadn't and I would have to make the best of the situation.

As I approached the kitchen for my second soiree, I could hear a lone cricket chirping inside. Upon my entrance, his serenade paused only for a moment before continuing blissfully oblivious. The kitchen had slightly changed since I had been there seven days ago, different dishes in the sink and some bananas now sat on the gray linoleum counter top.

I reached inside my backpack to retrieve the items that I brought with me. It was only midnight, so I had plenty of time to set up. I pulled out the Barbie doll that I had styled like the first victim. There was one for each of the six dead girls. I had wanted to have three more for the three girls that had gone missing in the past five days (I hadn't linked any of them to Nutford yet, but I was sure that he took them). But, there wasn't anytime and I believed that my point could be successfully made without the final ones. I liked my quarry to know that they had been caught. Perhaps it was the satisfaction I got when they realized that someone had trapped them. It was part of the game that I played with my target. It went along with my rituals of researching, planning, stalking and executing. I am a dutiful Dexter when it comes to my subject.

The first doll was placed on the counter sitting up. She was a blond wearing a blue cheer leading outfit. Exactly how Sara Portaige had been dressed the last time she'd been seen. In a way, these dolls were homage to my brother, Brian. I was adopted by Harry when I was two. My brother and I were those children that they show in primetime specials, the ones discovered in situations that scar and emotionally ruin; the kind of situations that transform perfectly presentable children into ruthless killers and psychopaths. I discovered that Brian has the same hobby as me. His Dark Passenger hunts with him throughout the night as well.

As I reached back down into my bag I heard the cricket's call stop. Pausing in my action, I tilted my head to listen. There wasn't any superfluous noise, so what was the cricket reacting to? Instead of grabbing Barbie doll number two, a perky doll named Crystal, my fingers wrapped around the handle of my flay knife. There was little resistance from the sheath as it came free of its protective grasp. I stood up and turned around with my knife hidden in hand.

There was no one there, not that I was expecting anyone. My shoulders relaxed a bit as I continued to look around the room for a few more minutes. The crick was keeping silent and my shoulder blades itched in anticipation. Turning back around, I reached again into my bag, keeping the knife firmly grasped in my right hand.

I rarely make mistakes, because if I did, I would have been caught long ago.

Unfortunately, this was one of those rare instances and as the vase hit my head, I didn't have enough time to even consider what I had done wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own **Buffy the Vampire Slayer** or **Dexter**. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jeff Lindsey.

**Dexter and the Dark Angel**

Waking up from unconsciousness was not an experience that I was ever going to get used to. The disorientation, the confusion as the body attempts to sort itself out. I slowly opened my eyes, ignoring the immense pain that shot through my head. I was probably bleeding. Light assaulted my senses, making my head pound even more. Groaning, I immediately let the lids flutter shut.

"Hey dude," a female voice quietly said, "you awake?"

"I think I was hit by a freight train," I replied, deciding that it never hurt to be a bit charming. I didn't know who the voice belonged to yet. It must be from one of the newly kidnapped teenage girls

Taking a deep breath and gathering my bearings, I opened my eyes again. The light was dim and came from a single flickering bare bulb in the corner. It took a few moments for me to focus. The cold and hard ground underneath me made me think that I was in a basement. Most likely I was still in Mr. Nutford's house, but as I looked around I realized that this basement was not one that would be found in a Better Homes and Garden's magazine.

I was in a large cell that had been built into the very wall, a piece of construction that I could tell had taken time, money, and energy. To my right was a young woman with both of her arms and legs chained to the wall. Her long brown hair hung in her face, but she still eyed me from behind the locks. She did not fit the profile of Mr. Nutford's previous victims. The girl was clearly over the age of seventeen and had long been out of high school. Why the hell wasn't he sticking with his usual victims? How aggravating. I'm not used to being wrong when it comes to things like this.

To my left was a set of bars. Jail bars. If this was in the basement of Mr. Nutford's house, then I really should have investigated more when I was here a few days ago.

I tried to sit up, realizing immediately that one of my legs felt heavier then usual. Mr. Nutford was apparently a rather large fan of chains. Good to know. It made a strange sort of sense since this was a dungeon that brought to mind bad medieval movies and B horror films.

Running a hand through my hair, I scowled at the fact that my backpack of tools was gone. I felt naked without it. I could see the black bag in the corner of the room outside of the bars. My hand found resistance as it made it's way through my hair. Crusty and a little wet in some places, just as I'd suspected.

I glanced down, a small pool of blood had accumulated on the cement beneath me. Most of it had dried, but there was still a very wet sticky spot that had brown pieces of hair - my hair - stuck in it. Crap. DNA evidence was not good. If I got out of here I had to remember to clean that up. Then again, the entire floor was covered in crimson stains. If I was lucky and made it out alive, my blood and hair might not even be noticed in all of the DNA chaos.

Now, most people would be freaking out at this point. Between the cell, the chains, and the blood stains I should be shaking in my skin. Luckily for me, I was not most people and my thoughts were clear, if still a little slow from being unconscious. My senses focused in. It was times like these where I performed at my best.

Tentatively, I stood up. It felt good knowing that I could stand with minimal wobbling. The chained girl's eyes roved over me but I ignored them and instead checked my back pocket. Apparently, whoever had searched me did not do a good job because I still had my lock picking wallet. Amateurs. My head turned towards the door outside of the cell. The clinking of the handle signaled that someone was coming into the room. The woman chained to the wall heard the movement as well and looked to the door.

Mr. Nutford entered with another man behind him. Nutford wore a silk black robe that extended to his knees. It looked like typical pedophile clothing and it was unlikely that he was wearing anything underneath it. Turning my attention to the second man, I realized that this was someone who I hadn't seen before. How did I miss that Nutford had an accomplice in all of my research? Annoyed that I had overlooked something so crucial, I studied the second man closer. He was pale with blonde hair and wearing a fabulously flowered button down Hawaiian shirt. He wore the type of tacky cloths that a person would see on tourists . . . or me.

"So Clark, this is the guy you found snooping around my house?" Nutford asked, giving me a look over.

"That's him," Clark replied, and motioned over to the corner. "He had that crap with him."

Nutford walk over to where my bag lay. He picked it up and began rifling through it. Taking a moment to look at each Barbie, he tossed them onto the ground. He gave an even bigger pause when he pulled out my tool kit. Unzipping it, he pulled out my favorite knife and held it up to the light.

"This is quite the knife you got here," he said, putting the knife back into place. "And some doll collection."

His blond friend Clark picked up one of the Barbies that had been thrown to the floor. He lifted up h skirt and snorted, then tossed it back onto the stone.

"So, who are you?" Nutford asked smiling, "Some kind of vigilante, here to bring me to justice?"

I smiled back.

"Something like that," I replied. Which was sort of true, there was no need for him to know what notions of justice I had in mind.

"Well," Nutford said as he cracked his neck. "You arrived just in time. I have a dinner guest coming and now I don't have to go shopping for any food."

He tossed my bag back into the corner with a loud thud.

Hmmm…..well that comment was a little unexpected.

I assumed that his crack about shopping for dinner was supposed to scare me to the bone. But instead, I just wondered how one got into cannibalism. Would I be cooked in a special sauce? Or maybe I would be in a stew with sweet potatoes and carrots? I once read an article in the paper about a man who put out an advertisement for someone who was willing to get eaten . . . but I'd never heard if the ad got any response. As I pondered this, Nutford and Clark gave me an appraising glance and left the room. Perhaps, they were trying to figure out what type of vegetables to cook me with. There was a heavy clang as the door locked behind them.

While I was interested in just how one would cook a human for consumption, I didn't exactly want that human to be me. A delicious delicacy of Dexter would not be on the menu tonight. Sitting down, I inspected the chain around my foot. Thank God that people were so stupid. Smiling, I reached to my back pocket and pulled out my trusty lock picks. The lock clinked as I picked my way to freedom.

I knew that I would be able to take out Nutford and Clark singularly, but I didn't think that I would be able win if I fought them at the same time. Nutford was overweight by probably about thirty pounds but Clark looked fit. I would have to be fast and lethal if this was going to succeed.

The lock gave a soft clank as it sprung open. I took a moment to rub my ankle before standing up. Next was the jail door and from the look of it, this was going to be just as easy. In a matter of moments the cell sprang open and I was one step closer to my objective. I was going through my bag, looking for a weapon that would help even the odds, when I heard someone clear their throat.

Turning around I found the girl chained to the wall looking at me expectantly.

I had forgotten that she was there. Was I supposed to do something more?

"You gonna help a girl out here?" she asked in a demanding voice, rattling her chains.

Oh yeah, she might want to be freed too. I hadn't really planned on freeing her. In fact, I didn't much care what happened to her. But, she might be able to help me escape. I gave her a thorough look over. She appeared to be in good shape underneath all of the blood and grime. And while she was covered in various amounts of questionable material, she didn't seem to be hurt. However, I couldn't afford to be slowed down. A normal person with feelings would probably free her right away.

I opened my mouth to tell her that I would come back for her. It was a lie. I would probably die, and given the chance that I did succeed, I was planning on spending the rest of the night playing with Nutford and maybe even Clark if I got lucky. But, my Dark Passenger began tickling my ear the longer I looked at the women. He was interested in her. And I'd found out a long time ago that when the Dark Passenger took interest in something, I should pay attention to it.

"Sure thing," I answered, wondering what was so fascinating about this female. First, I unlocked her feet. Most men would have found her beautiful and would have helped her with the hope that they might get laid. But sex rarely appealed to me, so I knew that was not what the Dark Passenger wanted. The Dark Passenger had other appetites. It didn't take long for both of her feet to be free and I stared at her arms. How exactly was I going to get her down without her crashing to the floor? I probably shouldn't let her fall.

"Um," I said as I undid the left hand. "I'll try to catch you before you hit the ground."

That's what someone would do, right?

She was a good few inches off of the ground and my face was uncomfortably placed between her breasts. They pressed into my face as I freed her right hand. Awkward….Squishy and yuck.

As the last hand was freed, I felt the full force of her body on mine. I was lucky that I didn't fall onto the floor as she collided into me. She wasn't heavy, but she sure as hell was dead wait. I parted from her quickly, wanting to get this show on the road as soon as possible.

"How long have you been chained there?" I asked as I watched her rub her arms and shake out her legs. She seemed quite limber for someone who had been hanging from a wall moments before.

"Four days," she said and smiled. In that smile I saw something that was kin to my own.

I saw a hunter.

A killer.

She walked out of the cell expecting me to follow. I went after her, my eyes remaining firmly glued on her as she moved. Who was she? Why did she stir the Dark Passenger? What could possibly arose such a succulent desire have her join in my special extracurricular schemes? She walked with a wicked and wily grace that I hadn't witnessed before. It was mesmerizing to watch, like a lion sauntering through the savanna grass. The Dark Passenger grew excited the longer we stared and his feverish murmurs only heightened my anticipation.

I tore my eyes away before I got too distracted from the task at hand. Instead of following her to the door, I turned my attention to my bag. There were items in it there that might help in the upcoming tussle. The fishing line got shoved into my pocket and I was careful to not step on the Barbies. My favorite knife would help as well. Hopefully, Nutford didn't defile it with his dirty digits. Looking up, I noticed that the woman was staring at me. No, not at me, she was staring hungrily at the knife.

"Would you like to borrow one?" I asked holding up the case. There were plenty to go around.

"Hell yeah," she replied huskily.

I handed her the case and watched as she evaluated the knives. She picked out my second favorite knife and twirled it in her fingers. She then grabbed another knife and gave it a look over.

Good choices.

"There are more weapons in the next room, but these will work for now," she handed me back my case. "Look, I'm not sure if you know what exactly you got yourself into but you might want to take my lead. There's no telling what kind of shit we're going to find in that next room but whatever it is, I want you to promise that you'll leave it to me."

Ummm . . . . Okay.

"The blond guy, Clark, is very strong," she continued without waiting for me to respond. "So watch out for that. Go for his heart. The other asshole is your basic fat, lazy ass human. Now, make sure that you don't step on the giant circle in the middle of the room. And if it starts glowing, just um… stay as far away from it as you can."

It was a good thing that I had freed her. She seemed to have an idea on how to solve the problem - like an saint helping a sinner in need.

"You gonna stand there and stare? Or are you gonna get us out of here?" she brought me out of my daze. After all, this wasn't the best place for me to get lost in my thoughts. "Oh, and make sure you're quiet."

I nodded and went to the door. Hopefully whatever they were doing in the next room was loud and my skill went unnoticed. I keep the singing of the steel to a minimum as I went to work. The lock popped open and I turned to the Dark Angel next to me.

Dexter and the Dark Angel, it had a nice ring to it.

"Would you like to go first my dear?" I asked.

She smiled as her eyes hardened. It reminded me of the look that I had seen numerous times in the mirror; cold, cutting and collective. The Dark Passenger purred at our new hunting partner, excited to have someone else joining in the fun.

"Name's Faith," she said.

"Dexter," I replied. The thought of not telling her my real name vanished before it even arrived. The Dark Angel deserved to know who was hunting with her.

Stepping to the door, she held both of the knives in her right hand.

She kicked the door with enough force that it flew off of the hinges. Impressive; I had never seen anything like it in my entire life. Did she really need me to unlock it first if she was planning on doing that from the beginning? Rushing through the door, she effortlessly chucked the two knives she was holding. I wasn't able to see if they had hit anything but I heard a scream.

I followed after her but stopped as soon as I was through the door.

This was, wow . . . this was a masterpiece. A linear language of lines and patters. It was the third image from his scrap book. The one that I couldn't wait to see constructed and finally completed.

The wall across from me was covered in designs. Primordial with a pernicious aura of destruction, the designs permeated the air. It was almost as if it was practically stifling the oxygen in a baffling feat to become a living form. Body parts from the newest victims were arranged in front of the wall. A large intricate circle was drawn on the floor. The darkened blood ran in lines that had been painted in painstaking perfection.

Taking my eyes off of the artwork, I noticed that Nutford was standing with his mouth agape in the circle. Apparently, we had caught him off guard. The black robe hung open on his frame revealing his unsightly flabby body and erect penis. Horny, homicidal and hideous; it created an image that I was happier not to look at. It struck me again how horribly disappointing it was that a man such as Nutford could create a work of art that was so perfect. A girl was chained to the floor. She was from the newest batch of kidnapped teenagers and didn't look like she was in the best of shape. Perhaps it was the slight grayish tint of her flesh, or maybe it was the fact that her neck was bent at an impossible angle, but the closer I looked the more obvious it was that she was dead.

Cannibalism and necrophilia, it was quite the combination.

I turned my attention to where Nutford was staring. On the right side of the room was Faith fighting Clark. She was fast, a flurry of fists and kicks that went beyond superb. Her body reacted, reaching and rotating in a way that rivaled anything that had ever been revealed to me. It was as if she could predict every move the blond was going to make. Clark was equally as fluid, even with one of the knives lodged in his shoulder. The other one was on the floor. A red spot stained his Hawaiian shirt near his stomach. It blended in with the flowers and hula girls that danced across the fabric. Unfortunately, the obvious blood loss didn't seem to be slowing him down. He even had a moment to carelessly pull the knife out of his shoulder and toss it onto the floor.

I felt a little inadequate watching her fight. If I was to impress my Dark Angel, then I needed to be as inspirational as she was. Well, if she was going to deal with Clark, then I guess it was up to me to deal with dungy and disheveled Nutford. Unfortunately, he stood at the center of the circle that Faith had told me not to enter. Since the Dark Passenger was practically purring at Faith, I was pretty sure that I should follow her directions to a T. I'd need to improvise, but luckily I was good at that.

The knife in my hand was useless. I had never been good at throwing them and now didn't seem like the time to press my luck. After all, it also seemed like a smarter plan to keep the knife close by. There was a good chance that I would be needing it later. Looking around the room, I hoped that there was something that would do better long range.

Behind me on the wall hung a variety of weapons, the likes of which impressed me. Swords of various sizes, axes, crossbows and tools that could only be used for torture were at my disposal. Just looking at them was almost enough to make me want a wall like this of my own. However, I was not that much of a fool and I was certain that a wall of torture like this would be difficult to hide.

Now, I had never used a crossbow before but I could figure it out (and hey how much more difficult could it be to aim then a gun). I smiled seeing that the one of them on the wall was already loaded. That sure made it easier. It clattered and banged against the cold concrete wall as I hefted it down. The crossbow was heavier than I expected and it took some effort to lift it off the wall, not to mention a good deal of noise.

Nutford was still staring vacantly at the fight and didn't seem to register my presence even with all of the racket that I just made. Apparently, I wasn't even a threat.

Aiming, I pulled the trigger and watched the bolt fly. I was aiming for his chest and missed, it was a little embarrassing. But I did hit his left leg.

"Mother Fucker!" Nutford yelled as he turned my way.

Bolts, I needed some more bolts. Nope, there weren't any on the walls or anywhere where else in the room. Honestly, why only have one bolt? What good was only one of them going to do? Tossing aside the crossbow, I readied the knife in my hand.

Now this was a weapon that I was familiar with.

"You stupid fucker!" he yelled and broke off the shaft the protruded from his leg. He grabbed at a machete that had been laying next to the (what I was now certain) dead teenager and limped my way. Once he left the circle, I made my move.

He swung wildly as I rushed forward and ducked underneath his arm. I stabbed my knife into his right side, and he yelped like a small animal and tried to pull away. He was my prey and this predator was not letting go that easily. Twisting the knife, I left it where it was and moved behind him. The man was slow and disorientated, easy pickings. He dropped the machete and wrenched out the knife in his side. It released with a slick slurp. I pulled out the fishing line that I had shoved in my pocket and tightened it in my hands.

Before he had the chance to turn around I attacked. I looped the line around his neck and pulled, tight. He choked and grasped at the line, like a fish that was fighting to be free, but he was not going anywhere.

Pulling him against me I said, "Stop struggling and you'll live longer."

That didn't seem to get through to him though because he just struggled more. His fat body jiggled and jerked, a sick strange motion that sickened me. But no matter how much I wanted to get away, I was not letting go. I jerked the line hard, his face turning purple and his eyes bugging out. He would have fallen to the ground but he fell into me instead. I was not going anywhere.

I took the chance to glance at Faith. She seemed to have the upper hand on Clark. Sometime while I was distracted with Nutford, Faith and Clark had not only done damage to each other, but also the room. The corner table that had been covered in candles and other ritual paraphernalia was now completely destroyed. Pieces of wood and wax were littered around the floor. Faith held one of the table legs in her hand as she fought. I had thought that she was doing a pretty bang up job without it. But who was I to judge? The Dark Angel seemed to have a better idea of what was going on here then I did. So, if a broken table let was going to do more good in a fight than the two knives that were laying about three feet away from her, then I just had to have faith.

She hit him hard in the face and he staggered into the circle. She lunged after him with the table leg held high in the air. With a graceful sweep of her arm, she stabbed him in the heart.

And right before my eyes, he exploded into dust. Dust!

I almost lost my grip on Nutford in my surprise. Dexter's demented world now contained humans that turned instantly into dust.

It was Faith's simple statement that refocused my brief sense of wonder.

"Shit," she said looking down at her feet. She had followed Clark into the circle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Dexter. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jeff Lindsey.

**Dexter and the Dark Angel**

The reaction was almost instantaneous and the circle lit before Faith even had a chance to escape. Faith ran towards the end but she was too late. She bounced back as if she ran into a force field and fell ass first to the floor.

"Throw me a weapon," she frantically called, "A sword!"

That was a bit easier said then done. I still had Nutford on my line and there was no way I was going to let him go. I had my prized that I had hunted for and I was a bit too peckish to let my prey get away.

Taking both ends into my left hand, I give the line a hard tug. He gasped and was momentarily stunned by the sudden serious lack of air. I used Nutford's surprise as a chance to grab a sword with my right hand. It was a bit of a stretch, but I was able to get my hand around the handle. The retrieval wasn't very graceful due to the fact that it was quite heavy, but I managed to hang on to both of my items as the tip clattered to the floor.

I went to throw the sword to Faith when I paused. How exactly does one throw a sword?

Perhaps it would be best to slide it on the floor to her.

I rolled the sword to Faith, well as much as one can roll a sword. It skidded across the sublime designs with a scrapping noise. I was almost afraid for a moment that it would completely scratch up the glorious artwork (but I was lucky in the fact that it did not). It was aimed well and I expected her to have to jump over it. Instead, she brought one of her leather heeled boots down onto the blade. With a clank, it came to a halt. Just in time too, because weird things began to happen.

A mist rose inside the circle. It was low to the ground and swayed in an unseen tide like waves. I switched the line again so I was gripping it in both hands. It seemed that most of the fight had gone out of Nutford but I wasn't about to press my luck. And now that I was no longer chucking swords at people, I could focus on holding him in place.

Nutford was turned towards the circle. He was making what sounded like mewing noises and it t was almost as if he was excited about something. His bovine like body trembled against mine. It was unsettling to say the least but it was a small price to pay to keep my quarry close.

I watched as Faith slowly turned to face the center of the circle. She was controlled, and at that moment she looked ever bit the perfect killer that I knew she was. Faith kept her sword low, the tip just barely resting on the stone floor. Mist rose around her and swirled in slow circles, obscuring my view of the ground. She was focused on the center of the circle.

I felt a bit lost at what exactly was going on. It troubled me greatly, especially since I felt as if I was the only one left in wonder.

The mist rose slowly until it was up to her knees, and I could taste the dampness on my tongue. Cold and almost bitter. I expected it to keep rising, but the pattern changed. There was a great gushing noise and the mist formed a dense column of fog. The pale fog got darker, leaching light from around it until it looked like pitch black smoke.

As the ground began to rumble, it became more difficult to keep my footing and I clutched Nutford tightly to keep from toppling over. But Faith stood solid, barely swaying as the ground heaved below her. She was a statue in the mist of Pompey as the world was turning into a fiery hell. A low growling came from within the mist. It sounded like an animal, perhaps a tiger whose tail had been pulled one too many times.

I was fairly certain that Faith wasn't alone anymore.

The fog wavered and rippled.

I didn't think that it was possible for Faith to get any tenser but she did. I watched her shoulders curve slightly, her knees bend and lock as her spine straightened. Her body became so rigid that she looked like she could spring forth at any moment.

Out from the mist walked something I had never seen before. And from crime scenes to hunting large game with my father, I had seen a lot. It was large, probably around ten feet tall and black. The creature stood on two hind legs with inverted knees. Its arms were almost as long as its body with thick bristles running in a line from the shoulder to the back of the hand. These bristles also traveled along the spine and continued down a long tail. The eyes were large and round, a pale yellow color that greatly contrasted with its black hide, and were set on a wolf-like face. It smiled and displayed a huge set of gleaming white teeth. Once the creature was clear of the mist, the mist dispersed as if the air had always been crystal clear.

This might be the dinner guest that Nutford was talking about. Whatever this thing was, it was eying Faith hungrily.

As I watch this new, strange creature in wonder, I couldn't help the one thought that kept repeating through my mind. Was the circle going to keep that thing inside it too, or did I need to look for a sword like the one that I just sent to Faith?

I don't often fear things, but this seemed like as good as time as any to start.

Lowering itself to the ground, it walked towards Faith on all fours and made a hissing sound that echoed strangely. It reminded me of a kettle of water releasing steam.

She crouched, adding a slight spring to her knees.

"Come on bitch," she muttered. "Let's go."

The thing growled in response and leapt at her.

She lunged to the right and out of its way. A figure of fierce beauty as she maneuvered throughout the air. I watched as the creature swung its tail at her and she hopped over it easily. It looked like whatever kinks she had in her system from hanging on the wall had completely vanished. Faith was agile; no that didn't even begin to explain the way that she handled herself. She was more like a force of nature - something beautiful but best viewed from a distance. Faith swung the sword in a downward arch at the tail. It bounced off in a flare of sparks that glowed red and blue.

It turned, snapping its jaw as it whipped its head threateningly. She brought the sword up to block the mouth, but wasn't fast enough. The creature clamped onto her right forearm.

"Fuck," she yelled as the teeth sunk into her flesh.

She raised her left fist and punched hard. Aiming for the right eye, she struck it squarely, the thing squealing like a pig as it was slugged. Her fist was probably the same size as the yellow colored eye and it sunk in with popping gush. Liquid rushed over the edges of its eyelids, and its squeal of pain increased. Faith retracted her arm and pulled part of the eye with it. Her hand was covered with milky white fluid that dripped out of her clenched fist. With a hard shake, she flung the substance onto the ground.

Faith's right arm was bleeding heavily, but she ignored the liquid as it pooled onto the floor. I frowned; it was messing up all of the beautiful artwork that Nutford had designed. I haven't even had the chance to study this one like I'd been able to at all the other crime scenes. Alas, all of his hard work would be messed up and I would never get the time to appreciate it. I wasn't even comforted to know that I had pictures of the previous crime scenes on my office computer for official purposes. And while I would never get to catalog and file pictures from this crime, I would have at least gotten to spend some quality time with the masterpiece. My heart thumped a bit with the pain of my lost.

Faith's foot blocked my view refocusing my attention. She had switched the sword to her left hand to she compensate for her hurt arm sometime while I was mourning. Her right arm was covered in blood and I was almost sure I could see the bone if I looked close enough. The creature was still flailing with pain from and had retreated toward the circle's center.

Faith smiled, reminding me of the predatory look that I see in my reflection before a kill. She stalked closer and the creature took a few steps back. It was weary now that it was wounded. It was trapped. The roles of predator and prey had been precariously reversed. The girl was no longer the easy meal that it had assumed at first glance.

It roared and arched back its neck; a sound that was jarring to my ears. The bristles that ran along the spine ruffled out as it spat a giant glob of goop at her. It was the color of mucus and landed with a flop where she had been standing moments before. Faith barely took a moment to pause before she charged towards the creature's blinded right side. Whirling its head around to compensate for the useless eye, it ruffled its bristles a second time.

"It's going to spit again!" I warned her, watching the thing arch its back.

I'm not sure why I had shouted the warning. It seemed clear who was the dominate in this fight. Despite all the odds, Faith clearly had the upper hand. She knew what she was doing, and it seemed almost silly of me to give her any type of advise.

The creature's mouth was open and only a foot or so away from Faith's face when she struck. Apparently the girl was ambidextrous because she stabbed up with the sword in her left hand. Whatever crap that was about to spew never came forth as the steel embedded into the soft palette of the roof of its mouth. Faith had used such force that the sword gouged all the way through its head. She turned the sword and pulled it out, the wound large and gaping. Bits of what only could be brain (along with a large amount blood) splattered on the floor.

I stared at the masterpiece that was now in a complete state of ruin. It was hard, but I was able to resist yelling at Faith for her lack of carefulness.

The creature thrashed violently, flinging various amounts of brain matter around the room. The ground began to rumble again and this time Faith couldn't keep her footing. She hit the ground hard and the sword clanged next to her. I watched as she tried to scoot away from the thrashing creature.

She had gotten out of the way just in time too, because the creature was just inches away from crushing her as it came crashing down.

Everything went still. Faith's eyes were glued to the monster almost willing it to get back up. The moments turned to minutes and there was no sign that the creature was still alive. As time ticked by, I could feel the slight bit of possible terror lift off of my chest.

Faith gave a loud sigh and collapsed to the floor.

"Just give me a minute," she said as she laid there, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. "It's hard work slaying one of these fuckers."

"Ah, okay," I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. I haven't killed anything that large before, or with that many glossy teeth. Hell, I had never seen something like it before. Needless to say, I was feeling a bit speechless.

I released my grip on Nutford, but not before I hit him on the head, hard. He slumped over, unconsciousness. Stepping over his flabby body, I noticed that his robe was still open and he was still hard. Disgusting.

I walked over to where Faith was laying and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, but I knew that she heard my approach. Blood speckled and tainted her face like a macabre stain glass window. Flicks of brain and bone were scattered in her hair.

"That was some good work kid," I said, staring at her war painted face.

"Mmmm," she responded opening her dark eyes. "It felt good."

I stepped back so she could stand up. I would have thought that after a fight like that, she would have been slow to get back onto her feet. But I was wrong, she moved almost as graceful as she did when I first saw her walk. If this is the condition that she was in after being chained up for four days and then fighting some sort of creature from the abyss, I really wanted to see her at the top of her game. Once on her feet again, she kicked the soon to be rotting corpse in the head.

"Damn," she muttered. "I was hoping it was one of those demons that dissolved when they die."

"Demon?" I questioned and looked at the body. I suppose it could be true, but demons just seemed so . . . Illogical… like unicorns, ompa lumpas and the notion that George W. Bush ever had the talent to lead a country.

"You're a newbie?" she asked raising her eyebrows. "And here I thought that you did this for a living."

"Excuse me?"

"You know," she smiled. "A demon hunter. You scour the globe looking for beasties to kill and rights to wrong."

"No, I'm not one of those," I said studying the body. It really was a monster that came from the inner circle of hell. The closer I looked at it, the more I marveled at just how horrifying it looked. A creature of nightmares certainly, one that feed off of children and ate virgins for desert. I didn't even want to think what would have happened if she wasn't here to save my ass. "I'm actually here for Nutford."

It sort of slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Nutford?" she turned her head to look at the unconscious man in question. "You a cop or bounty hunter or something? Cause I got to say that I'm impressed. Most people would go running for the high hills after seeing a demon like that."

"I bet," I replied.

We fell into an awkward silence. What exactly does one say at a time like this?

Would she even let me keep my prey?

God, I couldn't even fathom what I would do if she said no. I needed the release after a night like this and if I couldn't get it from Nutford, I would have to go looking someplace else. Someone else. I would have to improvise and I hated not having a plan. Too many things could go wrong.

I wanted Nutford, no I _needed_ Nutford.

The thought of the sweet satisfaction I would get chopping him into little bits made me tremble. The euphoria that would course through my body from wrapping and packaging him neatly into bundles only made me yearn for it more. I turned my attention back to my unconscious quarry. The Dark Passenger was hungry and revolted at the thought of being denied its kill. I could feel him staring out of my eyes - willing to do anything to kept our prize.

My world had just been practically ripped open and I had just found out that I was not the monster waiting under the bed as I had previously thought. No, there were things out there that were even nastier then me. I needed to figure out how I was going to deal with this new revelation on life.

I wanted to deal with this the way that I dealt with my issues the best. Unfortunately, there was an unknown factor keeping me from going to my happy place.

I glanced back at Faith to see her watching me. Her own Dark Passenger had returned to her eyes. Her gaze bore into mine and I could feel a giggle of delight at the creature that stood before me. I resisted the urge to ask her if she wanted to join me in my fun. I had never had a second willing participant in my recreation, after all, my victims didn't count. And after Brian and I had had our differences when it came to killing Deb, it would be thrilling to collaborate with another.

"You know," she said, bringing me out of my thoughts. Her voice was dark and matched her hard eyes. "This isn't the first time I've run across this scumbag. A year and a half ago we busted him in the Twin Cities. We caught him and basically neutered him of all of his magic abilities, tied him up and called the cops. The organization that I work for is not allowed to take any further punishment against humans. Which is what this shit-eater is - a fucking human. But the fucker got off when none of the evidence stuck. And I couldn't to a damn thing about it."

She paused and looked at Harold. Her voice was almost conversational as she continued.

"I was chained to that wall for four days. One of the girls was already dead when I got here, but the other two were in the cell with me. Callie and Elizabeth. Callie and I had to listen to what he did to Elizabeth. The entire time I had to tell Callie that it would be okay. That those who I work for would realize that I was gone and rescue us. For three fucking days I had to lie to the poor girl. But I knew, I knew that it would take at least a week before anyone from the Council to realize that I was gone. But what the fuck was I supposed to do? Let the girl beg and scream and bargain for a release that was never going to happen or give her just a little bit of hope?"

She turned her head to the dead girl in the circle. It must be Callie. I wasn't quite sure where she was going with this little rant to hers, but I wasn't going to stop her from talking.

"He took Callie last night after he got done with work. In the end, I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Not one fucking thing. And now, I'm supposed to call in the Council to clean up the demon bits and leave him to the proper authorities again? He'll just call up his lawyer, again, and weasel his way out . . . again. Not this time."

With her last sentence she turned towards me and at that moment I knew, that she knew. I had recognized her for what she was but it went both ways. She had also recognized me.

"In twenty-four hours I will call this into the Council," she said. "He needs to be dead by that time. If he's dead, no one will go looking for him. They'll just chalk it up to a demon summoning gone wrong."

Did she just give me permission to do what I think she said?

Holy shit I think she did!

"The police will still be called in. Since it's a human crime, they'll have to be. I'm going to have to erase all evidence that I was here. If you give me a lock of your hair, I can have the same thing done for you."

I felt a smile creep onto my face.

"You're welcome to join me if you want," I suggested.

She snorted. "Sorry, dude but I'm going to have to pass. Instead, I think that I'm going to go get trashed. Remember, you've got twenty four-hours."

With that, she walked over to me and kissed me hard on the lips. I wasn't quite sure how to respond. But quickly I realized that it was just a ploy as I felt a small sting on my scalp. She got the hair that she needed and sauntered away. As quickly as my Dark Angel had entered my life, she had disappeared into the night. I sighed at the fact that she had just left me with a bunch of questions and zero answers.

Dexter's dark existence now included demons.

A bit confused and with my mind still in a state of shock, I turned to Nutford. I really didn't know what to think about the fact that demons walked the Earth. Or that apparently she worked for an organization that dealt with them. But I had someone here who could answer all of my questions that she left me with. It would give Mr. Nutford and me something to talk about while I work.

Smiling, I gathered my things and went over to Harold Nutford. It was an exciting night and it was about to get a whole lot better.

**The End**

**A/N:** I just want to take the time to thank everyone who read and reviewed. While this fic is finished, I have a feeling that this will become a series of short stories. With that in mind, let me know what you liked, didn't like and what you want to see. Your input will only help in my decisions as to where this will go to next. Until next time, I wish you well in your fic reading. 


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